I mentioned in my last the arrival of "Psyche." The lines following "The Mezereon" are so beautiful, so original, and so pathetic, that it is not difficult to guess who wrote them, and they make me almost ashamed to transcribe my own attempt at a stanza:—

Genius of Spencer, dost thou hover near
The favoured banks of Mulla's pastoral stream?
Or midst Rosanna's groves, to science dear,
Lovest thou to bid thy former lustre beam?
Alas! how short-lived this delicious gleam!
How soon are closed in everlasting sleep
Those eyes which caught new radiance from the theme!
Now, while their tears the flowers of fancy steep,
Sad Psyche and her love o'er the pale marble weep.

I am a little jealous of Psyche's evident attachment to the guardian knight; it was rather too tender for friendship; but grateful friendship let us suppose it, when there is so much to admire and approve.